Eliot and Nate Try Something New
by Daria234
Summary: Nate/Eliot one-shots that jump around various stages, preslash, established ship,etc. Some humorfics,some angst,several kinkfics with dom!Nate/sub!Eliot. SLASH and KINK, don't read if you don't like
1. 3 Times Eliot admitted what he needed

This was originally written for comment_fic over at livejournal

The prompt was Nate/Eliot, "So ... you ride horses and Harleys...what else do you ride?"

--

The first time Eliot was honest about what he needed was after Nate had caught the "retrieval specialist" red-handed and talked him into helping the company with one of their side jobs. Nathan insisted that he play it safe, to meet the contact in a public place, but Eliot didn't like or trust Nathan enough to let him run the show.

The meeting was in an old warehouse. The explosion that Eliot barely escaped was there, too.

"You need a hospital."

"No, Nate, I need to be left alone without some nagging voice in my head."

"No, you have to - Eliot! Holy shit, wake up! Can you hear me Eliot? Wake up!"

"Mnhhh, okay, maybe I need a hospital."

*********

The second time Eliot was honest about what he needed was a few years later. Even if Nathan hadn't done his homework - which he had - Nathan would have been able to see on the younger man's face how much he had changed. He was less rash, more prone to think things out. But much more burdened.

"You could have gotten out of this business, Eliot. You wouldn't have to deal with thugs like them."

"More importantly, I wouldn't have to deal with suits like you."

"I think you're one of those guys. You can't just be happy. You have to feel like you're doing something important."

"Is that why you work for an insurance company? Because it's important work?"

"No, I don't need to be important. I'm fine being boring and happy."

"Happy my ass, Nathan."

"Fine, just boring then. But you know why I'm so boring? Because I'm usually right. For example, I know you'll be out of jail by nightfall and I know you'll be out of the country by Saturday. But I also know that eventually you'll run out of clients who only want things done the non-lethal way. And then your hands will have a lot more blood on them than you'd like them to."

"Hey, I don't need softball jobs, Nathan."

"Not softball jobs. Jobs that involving hitting and kicking and probably some head-butting. But no killing. At least, not unless it's in self-defense. And even then you usually find a way. But these jobs you're taking now, they pay crap compared to what you could be making. But you keep taking them."

"I need the work. A paycheck is a paycheck."

"You need the work because you don't have enough clients. Because they all know you have this bizarre need to keep your hands clean. You have ever since... what happened in the Balkans."

"Screw you, Nathan."

"That's not a denial."

"Go to hell."

"Still not really a denial."

"Fine! I needed to stop for awhile! Okay?"

"Past tense?... Eliot, this is important. You felt a need. To stop. Taking. Lives. Did that need go away?"

Eliot paused for a long time before answering. "...No."

*********

The third time Eliot was honest about what he needed, it was when Nate formed his "team." Nate and Eliot had revived their old flirtation but it was still before they actually did abything about it. Very shortly before, actually.

Nate was very annoyed about Eliot's secret-keeping, and his obvious feelings for the pretty young woman they were helping, and couldn't help but give Eliot a hard time.

He asked, "Who'd have thought when we started this job, that we would learn so much about you, Eliot?"

"I like horses, Nate. Not exactly news to write home about."

"So ... you ride horses and Harleys...what else do you ride?"

"Anything that can ride a little rough."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. The thing about me is, I need to know I'm on something that might kick back."


	2. Blindfold

Eliot gets more from his sense of sight than most. His speed and precision, the very things with which Eliot conquers and astounds, depend entirely on his ability to perceive. The speed and direction of your opponent, the detail that gives away who is or is not a threat, the tiniest of cues that tells you whether you need to defend a blow intended to kill or one intended to overpower.

Eliot relies on sight to make him who he is. Which is why he goes a little crazy when Nate takes it away.

It's just a blindfold. But it does more for Eliot than any toy or implement Nate had ever tried on him.

And Nate likes to wait until Eliot is tied up to a chair, or perhaps chained to the bed. And Nate will stand across the room, and hold it up, and see Eliot's whole body tense up. And he will slowly - very, very slowly - walk toward Eliot with the blindfold, always the same one. And he won't put it on right away. He'll have a little fun first, yanking Eliot by the hair to give him a rough kiss, or a couple of preliminary strokes of the paddle.

But then the blindfold would go on. And Eliot would be different.

He would be scared.

And it almost made Nate shudder to think of this. That Eliot had devoted his life to making sure he never had to be scared of anyone, to be able to make things happen instead of being the one things happen to. But Eliot wanted to be in Nate's hands. He wanted to be afraid of Nate, and he wanted Nate to see his fear.

Nate never wanted him more than when he wore the blindfold.

-============-=============-=============-=======()()()=================-===========-=========

Author's note: This was originally written for comment_fic on livejournal, a multi-fandom prompting comm

The Prompt was Nate/Eliot, sensory deprivation


	3. Preslash

It's a quiet moment, amid the bustle of a con.

Quickly stripping, the two men stand facing in opposite directions, hearing the clothes drop from the other man's body.

A fast look at each other to hand off the clothes. Making a point of looking each other in the eyes.

And then feeling the warmth of the other man, the heat from the clothes settle on their own bodies. Nate pulling on the rough denim and soft gray T-shirt that Eliot had worn, and Eliot pressing his body into the blue collar shirt, buttoning it up and ignoring its tightness, pulling on the charcoal pants and buckling the elegant leather belt. Nate breathing in the traces of sweat and aftershave that Eliot left in his clothing, Eliot's nose savoring the subtle smell of Nate's cologne.

They turned back to each other when they were done, and swiftly moved to the next stage of the plan. Eliot didn't ask Nate what kind of cologne he used. Nate didn't tell Eliot how good he looked in blue.

===__===___===___===

Written for comment_fic on Livejournal, a multi-fandom prompt community called "Comment_fic: Bite Sized bits of Fic," where you can request or write fic from any fandom.

Prompt was Nate/Eliot, switching clothes for a con


	4. Obeying

Nate never treated him with the kind of father-knows-best attitude that he did for Hardison and Parker. And it's a good thing, too, since outside of the bedroom Eliot definitely didn't like to be told what to do.

But sometimes Nate would say something that made Eliot look at him a little different. Like when a con kept reminding Eliot of the last time he was held prisoner in a torture-happy country, not because there was actual danger, just because Eliot's fucked up mind couldn't stop looking at the kind of rope that was used or the type of car battery... Nate would put Sophie in, change things up, endanger the job for no reason. And Eliot would yell at him, but Nate would just give a stern look and say, "This is not up for debate, Eliot. Stay away from the mark."

And that would be that.

The same way when there was debate over whether Eliot needed a doctor. Nate would decide. Eliot would object. But ultimately he would do what Nate told him.

Before the team split up, when they were all pretending that they wouldn't ever get together again, Nate had slipped Eliot a note. "Be good," was all it said.

Eliot was sure now that Nate had known they would be a team again. And that Nate was instructing him to fight the good fight, stay on the noble side of things. And to not get so deep in the hitter headspace, so elbows-deep in single-minded violence, that he wouldn't be able to come back to them.

The second part of Nate's bossiest statements were always left unsaid. If it were honest, it would be: "Stay away from the mark ... so I don't have to see you hurting. Stay away from the mark for me." "See the doctor ... for me." "Be good. For me."

It's no wonder Eliot couldn't go against what Nate told him to do. It was always for a reason Eliot couldn't refuse.

-----------()-------------------()-----------------()-------------------()-----------------()----------------()----------------------()---------------

AN: Originally written for comment_fic, a multi-fandom prompt community on lj (livejournal)

Prompt was N/E, ---


	5. Control

Nate didn't really like looking at himself. At least not without the filter of a few whiskeys. And then a few more.

But when he did have to give himself, his behavior, a hard look, it was hard for him to see why anyone would stick around.

Nate had to control everything. Had to plan everything. Had to correct, select, and perfect everything. He made everything conform to his plans, his ideas, his impossibly high standards. And he demanded to know everything about others without wanting to let them know anything about himself. Demanded perfect trust in him without wanting to return that trust.

Anyone with a sane, sober, and rational mind would run like hell from Nate.

But then there's Eliot. Rational. Sober. But with that little hint of something, that thing that makes a good man become one of the best hitters around. Something not quite sane.

Something more interesting than sane.

Because Eliot was sometimes angry and sometimes amused and sometimes totally accepting of Nate's control freak behavior. Sometimes, he even seemed to crave it.

And he was patient. Okay,he was short-tempered and surly and would tell you what he thought of you whenever he felt like it. But he never tried to make Nate open up, or let loose, or trust -- he just waited for it, with the calm certainty that eventually it would come.

And of course, if there was anyone who thrived on impossibly high standards....

And Nate knew that if there was one person who would never run screaming from anyone, one person who would never be scared of Nate, it would be Eliot.

And this knowledge didn't solve all their problems. It didn't make Nate any less wary or controlling or demanding.

But it did make sobriety just a little bit less of a burden.

--------()------------------()------------------()-----------------()--------------()---------------

Originally written for comment_fic on livejournal, a multi-fandom fic prompting community

Prompt was Nate/Eliot, sober thoughts


	6. Tied

Nate, it turned out, was really good at tying knots.

Eliot wasn't surprised. This number of loops, this tightness here or there -- it was exactly the kind of thing Nate would be good at.

Precision. Planning. Control.

He told Nate as much as Nate was tying him up on the bed. The ropes were long, fastened not to the flimsy headboard but to hooks in the floor and on the support beam. The ropes were thick and held him tightly, and they were placed so that Eliot could barely move more than an inch in any direction.

"Wow, you finally have perfect control," Eliot said, "No wonder this is your fantasy."

Nate gave that smile of his, the one that could lead to astounding bliss or surprising terror, and said, "No, Eliot. My fantasy is making sure your fantasy goes just right. So you don't have to worry about hurting me, hurting yourself, breaking things, or anything else. Tied up like this, you can thrash and buck and fight all you want and it won't do one but of harm. Now tell me, Eliot, is that what you want?"

Eliot was breathless for a moment as Nate leaned over him, demanding an answer. "You know what I want," Eliot said, mouth dry with want.

That smile again. "But I told you to say what you want, Eliot."

"...I want you to take me."

"I plan on it. What else?"

"I want you to take me... and I want to fight my hardest and not be able to stop you," Eliot closed his eyes as he spoke, not wanting Nate to see the need in his eyes, the swirl of chaos and conflict and shame for asking for this. Hearing the words come out of his mouth, knowing that Nate demanded those words -- that alone was almost enough to make Eliot lose it completely.

Nate looked down at Eliot's rising erection and then leaned over to blow a thin stream of air onto it. "See, Eliot? See what wonderful things happen when you do exactly as I say?"

--------()------------------()------------------()-----------------()--------------()---------------

Originally written for comment_fic on livejournal, a multi-fandom fic prompting community

Prompt was Nate/Eliot, Nate needs to be in control, Eliot loves to lose control


	7. Intoxication

You're not supposed to replace one source of intoxication with another.

Nate knows this. He thinks about it as Eliot slips quietly into his bedroom and stands in front of him, eyes down.

Nate thinks about all the people who have been annoyed by his need to control. Though annoyed isn't really an honest word. More like ... scared by it.

He thinks of this fear as he notes the hitch in Eliot's breath as he kneels before Nate. A smooth motion downward, like gliding.

"Take your clothes off," Nate said and Eliot immediately obeyed, somehow managing to stay almost kneeling as he quickly shed his shirt, jeans and boxers.

"On your hands and knees. Head to the ground."

Eliot's hair poured out onto the ground in front of Nate as he bowed low, head by Nate's feet and hips raised. Nate bit his own lip to prevent himself from making a sound at seeing the motion.

"Beg me."

Eliot hesitated for a half second. Nate knew that it was the only part that was truly hard for Eliot to endure. Which made Nate savor it even more, as Eliot spoke, "Please, sir. Will you punish me tonight? I need to be punished. Please."

Still not much of a begger, Nate noted, but moved on to his next command. "Hands behind your back."

Immediately, Eliot moved his hands behind his back so only his forehead, knees and feet touched the ground. Nate bound them with a black leather cord, tighter than he needed to.

"Stand." And when he did, Nate leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Who does this body belong to?"

"You, sir," Eliot answered, throat going dry.

"You do nothing until I order you to."

He dragged Eliot over to the bed then and pushed him onto it. He could see the desire in Eliot's eyes, all that trust in Nate but also that little hint of fear. That fear that Nathan's need for control was precisely where Nate might lose control. That tiniest of chances that Eliot might not be safe with Nate.

Nate knew that it was this slightish shade of real violence that drew Eliot here in the first place.

"Foot," Nate said, and Eliot's right foot was in his hand, being positioned to be tied to the bedpost. "Foot," Nathan said again, and tied the left foot to the other post, leaving Eliot spread wide in front of him.

"Eliot," Nate said as he paced around the bed, looking predatory, "Tonight you are not allowed to suffer me stoically. No more tough-guy silent stuff. It's your way of hiding your pain from me. But who does your pain belong to?"

"You, sir." Nate could see Eliot's reaction to being forced to speak Nate's ownership.

"That's right. So you will let me hear your pain. I will make you cry and I will make you moan and I will make you scream for mercy. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. Whatever you say."

Nate was silent for a moment. He wanted to enjoy Eliot's obedience, let it wash around and linger, like fine wine or smooth cream. Eliot's strength. Eliot's power. About to become a broken and quivering mass, pleading for permission to come.

Nate reached down and grabbed a fist full of Eliot's hair and kissed him. And as he got ready to begin their game in earnest, Nate tried not to think about the dangers of intoxication.

AN: Originally written for comment_fic on livejournal, prompt was N/E, intoxication


	8. Avoidance

"We both know this isn't going to work, Nate."

"Why is that?"

Eliot snorted. "For one thing, you're an over-controlling jerk. And a drunk."

"And the other other thing?" Nate calmly asked, as if these were minor quibbles.

Eliot hesitated. "You'll never think of me as anything but a hitter."

"I already think of you as a lot more than that."

Eliot looked at him, anger not quite hiding the fear. "But you'll always know what I am. A criminal.... A killer."

Nate looked at the pain tightening Eliot's face, and wished he could offer Eliot forgiveness, assurance. Wanted to tell him that he knew what Eliot had done, knew that Eliot didn't always have a choice, knew that Eliot deserved better than to soak in self-loathing and regret. But Nathan also knew from experience that forgiveness from others felt false and shameful when one hasn't forgiven oneself.

So Nathan just shrugged again. "Yeah. So I'm a jerk and you're a killer. Nobody's perfect."

-=============()==========-------------==============()===============---------------=================()=============----------

Author's Note: This was originally written for comment_fic (Bite Sized bits of fic), which is a multi-fandom prompting community over at livejournal

The prompt was Nobody's Perfect, inspired by the end of Some Like It Hot


End file.
